Central Park
by gluon
Summary: Rachel and Will are in New York City after Nationals.  At Rachel's suggestion, they visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  They walk through Central Park on their way to dinner and a show.  It's NOT a date.  Then it is.
1. The Invitation

Author's notes: The Rachel Berry in my Rachel-Will stories is not the same person as depicted in _Glee_ (at least as of 1/1/11). She's not a virgin, having had a long sexual affair with Finn and/or sex at summer theater camps (referred to in one story as a "cesspool of sexual depravity" but probably no worse than many Baptist church camps). As a result, she's confident, self-possessed, not in the least insecure, and well aware of her talent, looks, and brains. She has a higher IQ and more talent than Will, and is his psychological equal. She is always the aggressor, and he is the more vulnerable in the relationship.

This story was inspired by a short piece written by FanFiction member _Greys has become my life_.

...

When Rachel Berry and Will Schuester walked side-by-side down the steps outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, it was around 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon in early May, and the surrounding spring air was suffused with romance and possibility . If a complete stranger had stepped in front of them and said, "I've been watching you two all day, and as prospective lovers I think you should at least be holding hands by now," and then taken Rachel's hand and placed it in Will's, neither of the couple would have let go. However, absent outside intervention, mortal or divine, such a connection remained a bridge too far for both of them.

They were at the end of a near-perfect week. The entire glee club, led by Will and chaperoned by Emma Pillsbury, had gone to New York to compete in Show Choir Nationals, placing second behind a Southern California horde of 50 singers supported by a $300,000 budget, professional choreographers and costume designers provided by Hollywood-connected parents, and a 20-piece school orchestra. Rachel was chosen unanimously as the outstanding soloist and talent scouts associated with major Broadway producers invited her to stay over to audition the following week. The kids all had a great time, with the night Puck, Finn and the other boys invaded the girls-only hotel-room pajama party being particularly memorable. Hotel security had to be summoned, but Santana and Brittany found a peaceable means to resolve the conflict.

Will decided to stay an extra day after Rachel told him she would be going on Saturday to a special exhibition at the Museum of costumes from old Broadway musicals. She asked if he might be interested in accompanying her. Will considered it, mulled it over, weighed the pros and cons, performed a risk/reward analysis, then after almost five seconds said that he would "love to go." He said he had an abiding interest in old costumes. He said he might copy them for a glee number next year. He said he had always wanted to go to the Museum. He said lots of things that served as plausible reasons for going. What he did not say is why he wanted to go. Rachel suggested it would be prudent if Will did not mention this particular trip to anyone, as she had already told some kids that she would be going. Will agreed that discretion, combined with complete secrecy and outright lies, if necessary, should be the order of the day. An hour later, after dancing around her hotel room while singing all of Maria's and Anita's songs from _West Side Story_, with reprises of a determined _Tonight,_ a hopeful _I Feel Pretty,_ and a killer _America_, Rachel returned to Will. She said that it "suddenly occurred" to her that as the Museum closed at 5:00, there would be time to "get a bite to eat" and, who knows, if he felt like it, maybe, perhaps, they could see a Broadway show. If he wanted to. He didn't have to. She'd understand. And oh, she just happened to have a folded clipping from the_ Times_ listing all the shows playing that week, so he could just look them over when he was alone and she'd be glad to see anything he chose, if it had gotten great reviews and she wanted to see it too. And she knew a great Italian restaurant in the West 60's.

"If it's 'great,' won't it be hard to get a table on a Saturday night?"

"My dads know the owner. I made a reservation. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I brought a date. Not a 'date' date, of course, it wouldn't be a 'date,' but a guest, a very special guest."

Will had accepted the Museum trip _presuming_ everything that Rachel subsequently proposed, but was amused and charmed at how she had gone about it. So was Rachel.

Will helped Emma shepherd the kids onto their chartered bus on Saturday morning, and told her he was staying to see some old friends. With Rachel also in New York, Emma suspected something might be up, but lacking any hard evidence to nail the two sluts, and having been asleep at the chaperone wheel during the pajama party, she was at the moment in no position to make a fuss. But not wishing to rely on Emma's long-term mental stability, Rachel and Will were careful to keep secret their agreement/plan/arrangement (but definitely NOT a "date") to meet at the Museum, have dinner and take in a show as an outing/adventure/field trip/cultural excursion, with the added diversionary ploy of Rachel's not-so-subtle flirting with every male in her entourage except Mr. Schue, whom she treated in the manner groups of teenagers normally employ with people over thirty, that is, as invisible. Thus, it came to pass that everything was set for Will to innocently accompany Rachel to the Museum, and nothing that might possibly be construed as inappropriate by the School District or law enforcement was going to happen unless, of course, it couldn't be helped, in which case it _would_ still be innocent in some metaphysical sense.

As the bus headed for Lima turned out of sight around the corner, Rachel relaxed her waving arm and exclaimed, "Thank god. I thought they'd never leave. Are you ready for our big adventure, Will?"

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. It should be fun." he replied, accepting Rachel's first instance of addressing him by his Christian name as being appropriate in the egalitarianism of that day. It helped that its use gave him a slight chill.

"I want to put your mind at rest about last night. Finn and I had a meeting with the all the kids this morning and got them to agree to a vow of silence to keep the alcohol and near-orgy at the pajama party an absolute secret, if they didn't want glee shut down or at least all future trips eliminated. And Puck threatening to beat people up also helped some potential blabbermouths to see our point of view. I think we can contain it."

"Thanks. What happened with you?"

"I drank some, maybe too much, but I didn't put out. Finn protected me. We still care about each other."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, let's go see us some theater costumes."

Rachel looked at him quizzically, tilting her head and smiling to emphasize the point. "I'm going mostly to see me some Rembrandts and the like. The theater costumes exhibit is real, but I used it mainly a pretext. A bribe to our consciences, as it were. I thought it was our little joke."

"I see we _are_ going to have some fun, aren't we?"

"Yes, Will, we definitely are. I don't always not put out, you know, and Finn isn't here to protect me, is he?" Rachel was on a roll.

Will laughed, but realized anew that dangerous currents lay just beneath the surface where Rachel Berry was concerned. But then again, that's why he wasn't on the bus back to Lima at that moment. Rachel offered to treat him to a cab ride to the Museum with some "walking around money" she had gotten from the producers' agents, and Will stepped out into the street and manfully hailed a taxi. On the ride up Madison Ave., Rachel promised they would indeed go see the costume exhibit, and asked Will about art that he might want to look at, especially as it related to Spanish studies courses he took in college. She'd been to Big Apple culture before with her dads, and she was clearly the leader of this two-person field trip.

It was a beautiful spring day in New York City with the promise of a wonderful day and night ahead with someone he genuinely liked and maybe more, and he was still basking in the justifiable pride he'd earned with New Directions' extraordinary accomplishments, yet a bit of gloom hung over Will Schuester. Ever since he'd heard of Rachel's upcoming auditions, he knew there was a real chance she would be gone for good by the fall. Looking over at the vibrant beauty next to him in the back seat, Will realized that he might be losing much more than a great soloist. It added a special intensity to whatever the feelings were that he had for her and gave this particular excursion a significance he found simultaneously unsettling and exciting. He had no idea how it might end or even how he wanted it to end, but he was grateful for the chance to have a front row seat as the force of nature he knew as Rachel Berry performed her magic show.


	2. Easy as a Walk in the Park

"On the threshold of love we are bashful. There has to be someone who will say to us, 'Here is what you may love: love it.' " - Marcel Proust

...

Leaving the Museum, Rachel and Will walked down 5th Avenue and took the first path into Central Park, a completely man-made 840-acre rectangular oasis embedded amongst the high-priced apartments, hotels and major cultural institutions of upper Manhattan. The boundary between the concrete, steel and noise of the city and the quiet biology of the park could be easily traversed in a single step along the many miles where they abruptly met. The boundary between friendship and love for a couple might also be crossed with the single step of a touch or a word, but finding that kind of step can be much more difficult when fear and uncertainty bar the way. Central Park itself, however, has often acted as a catalyst for such transitions. Rachel and Will had entered unknown territory.

"Did you enjoy it, Will?"

"Yes, very much, but it owed a lot to _you_ being there. You taught me how to visit an art museum."

"Really? How?"

"Most people go into a gallery and walk around at a fairly steady pace looking at each picture for ten seconds. You spend all your time looking only at the very few pictures that interest you most. You do _everything_ with intensity. Nothing's casual or half-assed."

"Yes, I'm like that. It can sometimes make things difficult, though. You know, I'm so glad you agreed to come with me today. It made it so much more fun. But tell me, which picture would you steal if you could? I mean, if you could take home any one picture and keep it for ten years, which one would it be and why? It's a game my dads and I play whenever we go see an art exhibit."

"Easy. The El Greco _Toledo_. I know it's probably about _religious_ spirituality, but for me the dramatic sky above the city on the hill reminds me of the effects music can have on the human spirit. It's how I feel sometimes when _you_ sing."

"I could kiss you for that. You need to be more restrained in your flattery, Mr. Schuester, or there could be trouble. Kissing you only once is probably as difficult as eating only one potato chip."

"Warning taken, Rachel, but I can't promise not to say nice things about you. Now it's your turn. What's your picture?"

"Also Spanish. The Velázquez moor, _Juan de Pareja. _Great painting by maybe the greatest painter ever and it looks like one of my dads when he was younger. Proud and confident."

"What father wouldn't be with you as their daughter?"

"Last warning, Will. Last warning. Next time, pucker up."

They continued south along a walk flanked by newly leaved trees, comfortable in each other's company, smiling and chatting about other favorite pictures they'd seen that day. They sat down on a bench overlooking the Conservatory Water.

"So, I fully expect you'll be leaving us, Rachel. There's no way you won't be hired after you audition. We'll miss you terribly."

"We?"

"_I'll_ miss you."

"Is that Will or Mr. Schue talking?"

"Both."

The sparkle that had been in Rachel's eyes all afternoon suddenly vanished. She looked at Will for an instant then turned away to stare out over the water. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm okay," she said. "I just got overly sentimental there for a moment. I really am excited about next week and so grateful for all you've done for me."

"You've earned everything you've gotten."

"I don't think you know how much extra effort I've put in just to please you, or how seriously I took even your most subtle suggestions. Please don't try to diminish it. Now let's go, we have a great night ahead."

As they rose and continued on their walk, Rachel's high spirits returned. "Well, have you decided what show you want to see tonight?"

"Nothing jumps out at me. The musicals all seem to be overblown productions for children and I don't know much about any of the plays. What's your choice?"

"I guess if you don't feel strongly about anything, we could do exactly what Cher and Nicolas Cage did in _Moonstruck_. It was very romantic. They ended up falling in love."

Will hadn't seen the movie and became pleasantly nervous. With some trepidation, he pressed forward. "I'll bite. What exactly did they do?"

"Relax, Will. It's not what you might have been worried about. They went to the opera. _La Boheme_, the basis for _Rent_. It's playing tonight at the Met. The music and singing are out of this world. "

"I know. I've seen it on PBS. And why do you think I was worried?"

"You should have seen your face. Anyway, there's no chance _we_ could fall in love, right?"

Will couldn't come up with a coherent answer to that last question, and Rachel's tone and facial expression were too ambiguous for comfort. Since he was equally uncertain about his own feelings on the matter, he let it go.

"But what about tickets? Aren't they very expensive? I can't let you treat me to that."

"No problemo. They gave me two free tickets for winning the soloist award. Orchestra seats. Wanna go? Rub elbows with the elite of Gotham City?"

"Are we dressed for it?"

"We're fine, especially you in that handsome sports jacket. You may have to sneak _me_ in."

"Since you already had the tickets, were you going to veto anything I suggested?"

"Only if you weren't really keen on something. How keen is really keen? We'll never know, now will we?"

"I'm starting to like you, Rachel Berry. Who said you could be difficult?"

"You did, Will Schuester, you did; a hundred times."

Rachel smiled at him, but as had been happening all day, her smile quickly dissipated into a serene resolve. A Buddha. It made Will wonder what _his_ face looked like to _her_, what conclusions she might be drawing about him. He wished he could ask her so that he might learn something about his own feelings.

"I have a little confession to make, Will. Almost as soon as I heard about the audition offers, I thought of spending the day with you in the city, but I had to work up a lot of courage to ask. I didn't even have a way to get high first to make it easier. 'Dutch courage' I think it's called. You're Dutch, aren't you? Was it difficult for you to accept?"

"No, it wasn't too difficult, even though I come from a long line of drunken cowards. Maybe it helped that I didn't take time to think about it."

"Now that you've had a chance to think about it and even experience it, are you glad you came?"

"Oh, yes. And you wouldn't have asked if you weren't already sure."

"True. You found me out. See how transparent I am?"

Rachel's nervous energy would occasionally outpace Will, which gave him a chance to watch dappled patches of angled sunlight dance across her neck. He discovered a sudden empathy with Count Dracula and a thirst for warm blood, but the exposing glare of daylight constrained his lusts. For her part, Rachel thought about stopping in front of Will, grabbing him by the lapels, and kissing his mouth. No, she'd need a ton of weed for that, and even then it wouldn't have worked because she didn't know how to smoke. So she considered taking his arm, almost a daughterly gesture, but not quite daughterly enough in the circumstances. No, she'd just have to wait. Maybe Will would lose his reserve after Mimi died.

They came at last to the Pond, a glorious space below street level right at the southeastern edge of Central Park. The water, lily pads, birds, trees, and blooming spring crabapple created a tranquil urban Eden. Rachel led Will to a bench where they sat enjoying the idyllic setting and each other's presence.

Rachel broke the silence. "This is my favorite place in all of New York. Natural, quiet beauty right next to the intensity of the city."

Her words were a key that suddenly released a flood of dammed up thoughts. She had articulated what he'd been feeling about _her, _almost since he'd first heard her sing, and he spoke, at long last confident in his emotions and intentions, not wanting or able anymore to hide them from her or himself.

"That description reminds me of _you_."

Rachel's face flushed, heated by the chill his declaration had induced. She found herself reaching out to him, her right forearm levitating slowly off her lap, moving over to him, vulnerable in its yearning, risking everything. He immediately took her hand in his, rubbed the outside of her index finger with his thumb and rotated his palm back to interlace their fingers. She spread open her fingers, inviting his penetration. They gripped each other hard in the confidence of their mutual desire, got up and walked hand-in-hand out onto Central Park South, heading west to a great Italian restaurant, a great Italian opera, and a great French kiss somewhere in the night.


	3. Buon appetito, mio caro

Unlike Mimi and Rodolfo, the protagonist lovers in the opera they would be seeing, Rachel and Will did not _suddenly_ fall in love; not on that day, not ever. Their relationship and feelings built up slowly over almost two full academic years, and survived not just the misunderstandings common to couples learning to communicate, but incidents of serious pain inflicted by each on the other. Creative and performing artists, which both were, are not jes' plain folks. Their egos and self-worth are heavily invested in their performances and creations, which are on public display and open to public judgment. Rachel and Will had taken huge risks in exposing their artistic selves to each other, acts fraught with far greater psychological danger than a couple having sex for the first time.

Will's standing as glee director rested on his ability to select the right song, assign the solos to the most suitable voices, and invent the choreography. Rachel had challenged him on all those counts, and when proven correct in her judgments, undermined his authority as director and his self-belief in his professional abilities. When Rachel rehearsed for him, she scrutinized his face and posture for hints as to his real judgment. No matter what positive things he might have said, any sign of less than complete elation on his part could be painful. Her competition was not Mercedes or Tina, it was Will's memory of April Rhodes, and April Rhodes had range and technique to burn. Exceeding everything, however, was her remarkable feat in recovering her confidence in her feelings for him after his rejection of her immature romantic yearnings.

There had been very real and good reasons why they had taken so long to make the connection they achieved at the Pond, and none of them had gone away or even been diminished. The difference in ages and institutional roles of teacher _vis a vis_ student remained, as did wide gaps in life experiences and expectations. If anything, the barriers between them had suddenly risen in the prospect of Rachel leaving Lima forever in the coming months.

When a person decides he or she is in love, it's not done by making an objective measurement, but by assigning a name to a set of feelings based on unverifiable comparisons about how other people - parents, close friends, fictional characters - have behaved. Rachel and Will each felt the truth of their love was made even more certain _because_ it existed in the face of the obstacles they both acknowledged. Contrariness might be an alternative explanation, if one insisted on being a cynic about these two insightful and intelligent people, but it would have been easier to convince Cardinal Ratzinger to give up child-molesting priests than to convince a couple such as hand-holding Rachel and Will, drunk on the liquor of romantic euphoria, to break up because some logic dictated it can't possibly work.

As they headed west on the sidewalk along the southern edge of Central Park, they would occasionally sneak glances at each other, looking for expressions signifying requited feelings, verifying the reality of the experience against the possibility that it might be a dream in which Will's face suddenly morphed into Finn's or Rachel's into Emma's or Terri's. If they peeked at the same time, they would stop, stare, and smile for a few seconds. A few pedestrians bumped into them and left cursing. (Ohio tourists please note: The middles of New York City sidewalks are NOT for lovers.) Waiting to cross at two stoplights, Rachel leaned her head against the edge of Will's shoulder and put her left hand on his bicep. They believed individually that they would sleep together that night, but there was no erotic charge in their physical interactions as they had not yet completely conquered their fears and fully come to grips with their amazement. Besides, the first kiss and the first naked touch carried enormous Significance, and these two perfectionists were going to do it absolutely right. God love them.

Entering the Italian restaurant, a handsome, tuxedoed forty-something maitre d' welcomed Rachel with literally open arms.

"Rachel, _carissima, che bella ragazza,_" he exclaimed as he hugged her.

"Grazie mille, Giuseppe."

"_E signor_ Will, _benvenuti_!" he graciously intoned, nevertheless inspecting Will with a gaze of the type generally reserved these days for Pakistanis boarding planes at La Guardia. Like an Italian uncle inviting a newly married niece and her husband into his parlor, he ushered the couple to a beautifully situated table for two and whispered in Rachel's ear. She beamed at whatever he told her.

"Will, I have to go in the back and get something. I'll be about five minutes." Rachel walked off and, although she wore little makeup and was dressed plainly in a blouse, knee-length skirt, and museum-suitable flats, several male patrons glanced in her direction as she went by. Will was handed a menu, and breadsticks and water were brought to the table.

"Waiter, there are no prices on the menu." Will had glanced at the menu in the restaurant's exterior window and the $40+ entrée prices had caught his eye.

"_Si, signor_, there are no prices tonight. Not for our special guests."

Will stared down at the menu and tried to use his Spanish to decipher the related Romance language. That's when he heard the click, click, click of high heels and male voices appreciatively uttering words such as "_brava_" and "_bellissima._" He looked up and saw not just a woman advancing toward him but something closer to a vision. It was Rachel from the future, seven years later, perhaps, on a Hollywood red carpet. As the apparition wearing a high-fashion, lower-thigh length black dress, pearl necklace above a cream white décolletage, and hair piled to reveal a Modigliani neck approached his table, Will stood, as gentlemen on _Mad Men_ do for a lady, and uncle maitre d' came up to announce to the world, arms spread like an Italian tenor begging for applause after an aria, "_Che bella donna_!"

Will tenderly kissed the backs of each of her hands in turn, kissed the base of her neck, which closed her eyes and sent an erotic charge down through her body, then held the chair out for her. Her smile radiated a love that warmed him to the bone. After she sat down, the maitre d' whispered in her ear and Will heard her say, "Yes, very much."

"Like it?" she asked coquettishly.

"It would take a great poet to do _you_ justice. You astonish me in a new way every day I see you."

Rachel leaned across the table to whisper, "Play your cards right, mister, and later on tonight I may astonish you in a _very_ new way," and kissed his cheek. An abrupt turn of her head brought their waiter scurrying.

"Bring us whatever simple dishes chef thinks we'll like. The entrees should be different. A good red wine. No Chianti. _Boheme_ is at eight. Play _O Soave Fanciulla_ during dessert. _Grazie_."

"If you somehow fail to astonish me the next ten days I see you, today will maintain your average. By the way, what did the maitre d' ask you?"

Rachel reached out and caressed Will's hand, first looking down, then up at him, serenely. "He wanted to know if I was in love. I suggested there was a tiny chance I might be." She smiled shyly. "Please don't go and say it back. Just keep showing me. I don't trust words anymore. Now I think I owe you a few explanations. Whether you agreed to come with me today or not, my dads were going to treat me to dinner at this restaurant and were going to buy me these clothes. They know all about you, that is, they know how I feel about you. They knew it before I did. People who feel vulnerable learn to pay very close attention to facial expressions and voice tones. Women do it. Gays do it. White males do it in hostile environments. My dads recognized my love for you. It was _they _who told _me_. They saw my face and heard my voice when I spoke about you to them or when I spoke to other kids about you. They warned me to be very careful, that I could get hurt, that I could get you hurt. They knew about the crush fiasco. They helped me recover from it. I called them after you agreed to come with me today. They knew what it meant. They like you. They admire you. They're in no position to be too judgmental about unusual relationships. And they'll be at the opera tonight. We'll meet them at intermission. Oh, and the maitre d'? Giuseppe's real name is Joseph Rosenthal; he's a gay Jew from Brooklyn. He had an Italian boyfriend once, so he learned the language. He was checking you out to see if you were good enough for me and because he checks out all hot guys. It's a habit he can't break. Okay?"

"Yes," and taking her hands across the table, Will looked in her eyes and said with a slight smile, "and to hell with you, Rachel Berry, I do love you. Sorry, but I needed to say the words and I think you needed to hear them. I'm a little scared of meeting your dads tonight, though."

"Don't be. They love whom I love. If you have a neurotic need to worry, just remember that if you ever do me wrong, the secret backers of this restaurant will have you whacked. Ah_, antipasti. Grazie. Buon appetito, mio caro_."


	4. Mimi and Rodolfo at the Opera

Author's note: To really understand this chapter, it is essential to first listen to _O Soave Fanciulla, _the lovers' duet at the end of Act I of_ La Bohème. _There are many versions on YouTube, but the one I recommend not only has English subtitles, but also has easily the greatest acting in the role of Mimi I have ever seen. It's performed by the wonderful Teresa Stratas, whose face, voice, and emotionally true portrayal are just a tiny bit reminiscent of a certain Lea Michele. The URL at is _watch?v=zf6eo1Dwr1g&feature=related _with title: _La Bohème (5 de 15)._ Videos _La Bohème (3 de 15) _and _La Bohème (4 de 15) _are where Rodolfo and Mimi introduce themselves to each other_._ It all begins with a touch of the hands. So yes, you should watch them; if a character played by Cher could love it, so could you.

Dishes came and dishes went, washed down by a full bottle of a luscious _Barbera_. It was by far the best Italian food Will had ever had. They offered each other tastes across the table on the ends of forks, the recipient touching the hand of the giver, the way women used to suggestively touch the hand of men lighting their cigarettes, in the good old days when smoking was legal and less immoral than extra-marital sex. The great passion of their new love was, along with the great Wall of China, the only man-made creation visible from space.

When the dishes of the last course were cleared from the table, in preparation for the espresso and dessert, Rachel reminded Will that she had asked them to play a recording of _O Soave Fanciulla, _then sang in a half-whisper Rodolfo's opening phrases:

"O soave fanciulla, o dolce viso  
di mite circonfuso alba lunar  
in te, vivo ravviso  
il sogno ch'io vorrei sempre sognar!"

And translated:

"Oh lovely girl, oh sweet face  
bathed in the soft moonlight.  
I see you in a dream  
I'd dream forever!"

Then she sang Mimi's reply:

"Ah! tu sol comandi, amor!"

"Love, you alone rule!"

"You'd make a great tenor," was Will's genuine praise, out of his mind by now in adoration of her.

"Listen, if Aretha Franklin can sing Pavarotti's _Nessun Dorma_ at the Grammy's, I can sing the intro to _O Soave_," she replied with a quick kiss of his hand, then nodded to "Giuseppe" who waved to the back and the orchestral strains of _O Soave_ began over the sound system.

In a restaurant with $40+ entrees three blocks from the Metropolitan Opera House, every diner knew the tune and knew it was not only _for_ the beautiful couple, but it _was_ them. Many looked over and smiled, and when the duet ended, a matronly lady walked past their table and whispered in Rachel's ear, loudly enough for Will to overhear, "I would kill to be you tonight."

After thanking the staff profusely in badly-accented Italian, Rachel and Will stepped outside into the slightly chilly night air. Will took off his jacket and put it around Rachel's shoulders.

"But now won't _you_ be cold?"

"You come first."

"Is that your motto?" she mischievously inquired, followed by a lascivious smirk.

He swept her around and against him, kissed her on the mouth with an almost brutal intensity, lifting her heels well off the ground. She responded in kind, her arms tight as a boa constrictor around his neck and her tongue heading for his larynx. Somehow, the reality of their interactions with other humans and the earthiness of the food and wine along with its consumption had brought them back from the celestial to the mortal plane. Their pure, sacred love had become profane, the loftily spiritual had become basely carnal. It was exactly as God intended it, as Darwin explained it - love and sex inextricably intertwined. Two years of foreplay had mercifully ended. The intoxication of their mesmerizing walk and culminating interdigitation in the park had dissipated. They were now dying to fuck. The transformation had occurred at melodramatic opera speed. It happens.

When the earthquake and its aftershocks had subsided, Rachel looked down and then up at Will to suggest with a laugh, "Maybe you should take your jacket back. And button it."

Will almost blushed, turned away to make a quick adjustment, but she hugged him immediately after he turned back.

"Mmmmm, it seems he's still there. I'd have been sooo disappointed if he'd gone away. But we'd better go before we're arrested for disturbing the peace and frightening the horses. My dads and _Bohème_ await. _Andiamo_!"

Will had always found Rachel to be sexy, but that was in his eye as the beholder. To find her richly sensual was to observe an inherent property, and he was delighted with the discovery. As they traversed the three blocks to Broadway and 63rd, their arms were around each other and they rehearsed the opening of _O Soave_ at nearly performance volume, with Will singing the tenor lines by the time they climbed the steps to the plaza of the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in front of the Met, with the theaters of the N.Y. Philharmonic and the N.Y.C. Ballet on the flanks. Thousands of people of all types and in all modes of dress were streaming past the fountain to the various venues. There is no other place quite like it anywhere in the world.

Rachel stopped as they rounded the fountain to return Will's jacket. "Button it sweetie, just to be safe. I make men crazy. I can't help it, now can I?" she teased, then continued, "This is a very special place for me and, as it turned out, for us. Two and a half years ago, my dads brought me here during Christmas break to see a revival of _South Pacific_ at the Beaumont Theater over there behind the Met. As you know, there are two couples in the show, Nellie and Emile, Lt. Cable and Liat, each with an older man. That made a big impression on me. And when the Lt. Cable took off his shirt for _Younger Than Springtime_, whoa!, I had just turned fifteen but I knew I wanted some of that. Then I remembered there was a young Spanish teacher at McKinley who resembled him, and the rest, as they say, is history. Are _you_ ever going to take off your shirt for _me_? Are you, Will? Huh, are you?" she pretended to wonder, smiling up at him with a hand under his lapel squeezing the flesh over his left pec.

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" He kissed her lips tenderly, warmly, sweetly. As he did so, his mind involuntarily travelled south down her body, over hills and into valleys, so he made doubly certain his jacket was buttoned before he led her inside, past the ticket taker, past the many pairs of eyes that glanced and even stared at their youth and beauty, onto the red carpet, up a short flight of stairs, and down the aisle to their tenth row center, $245 plush orchestra seats below the enormous gold stage curtain.

The huge chandelier rose to the ceiling, the house lights dimmed, the conductor strode to the podium, gave the downbeat, and Puccini's familiar strains filled the air. Rachel and Will held hands, and when the _O Soave_ duet began, they turned to each other to silently mouth the lyrics. They heard a quartet in their heads. As Mimi and Rodolfo sang the final words, "Amor, amor, amor" from offstage, Rachel cried and laid her head on Will's shoulder. He felt his heart swell with love for her.

At intermission after the second act, Rachel pulled him up from his seat, said "It's time to face the music, buster," and led him out to meet what Will now considered the two scariest gays on the face of the earth. He'd met them before, of course, at various competitions, but this was a whole new ballgame. He was soon to become her lover, and dads of all sexual inclinations are prone to be very suspicious of any man even halfway into their daughter's bra, let alone pants. When that man is their teenaged daughter's teacher and fourteen years her senior, gelding knives are sharpened and it's defcon 1. So, like Kipling's Light Brigade, Will Schuester bravely rode into the valley of death, at the end of which he found two handsome, smiling, tuxedoed men waiting for him in the opera house's lobby, ready to love whomever she loved. They embraced their daughter, marveled at her beauty, and warmly shook his hand. These were educated, cultured, and tasteful men who'd seen a ton of _Boh_è_mes_, and could and did offer detailed critiques of the evening's performance down to the last legato phrasing and orchestral blooper. They congratulated Will on his success with _New Directions_ and its importance, and invited him to dinner the following Saturday. Will thanked them for the restaurant meal and wine, thanked them for giving the world Rachel, thanked them for the sun in the morning and the moon at night. He promised to love and obey Rachel as they did, and asked whether, living with her since birth as they had, their sense of amazement at her ever leveled off.

"No, not in the least. But we know how you feel," one replied, "our sweetheart can be overwhelming at times. But after a few early crises when, we were told at the time, you were hell bent on destroying her career, you've been a steadying influence in her life, and we both appreciated it. Well, there's the five-minute bell. It's time to get back to the cheap seats. Enjoy the rest of the opera. We'll see you back in Lima, Will." They shook his hand again, hugged and kissed Rachel, and headed for the stairs as seemingly carefree as can be, as though he were a harmless dorky nerd taking their daughter to the prom. Will wasn't sure whether to be relieved, flattered, or insulted. Thinking about what Rachel and he appeared set to do later, he decided to go with relieved.

"See? I told you they'd love you."

"I only hope I'll be at least half as good for you as they've been."

Rachel hugged him, and they returned to their seats for the last two acts. At the very end, when Rodolfo cried "Mimi, Mimi" under crashing cymbals at his recognition that his lover had died, it was Will's turn to shed a tear. Rachel saw it and kissed his cheek as the last orchestral chords floated away and the final curtain slowly fell.

They left the theater holding hands, with Will's jacket back around Rachel's shoulders, and stopped again at the fountain in the plaza.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I loved it, I loved you, I loved your dads, I loved our day. _O soave fanciulla, o dolce viso_. It was one of the great days of my life, maybe the greatest." He held her against him with an arm around her waist, touched her cheek, and licked and kissed behind her ear.

"It's about to become even better, darling. Let's take a cab back to the hotel. You're making me extremely anxious to finally see you with your shirt off."


	5. Pillow Talk

"I wish there were some way I could get you to actually feel how wonderful it was for me."

"That might require I get a sex-change operation."

"If that's what I wanted I'd go get Quinn or Santana, They're even prettier than _you_. No, silly, I'm not talking about the incredible long orgasms. Men can't ever know _that_. But it wasn't about physiology, it was about psychology - emotions. It's what enables those kinds of orgasms. Trusting you completely, feeling safe and comfortable in your arms, being able to open myself physically and emotionally to you. And then the way you touched me, cared for me, looked at me, came inside me. Thank you darling, thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Gee, you're welcome. Maybe I should frame one of those gold stars you gave me. You could sign it 'Thanks for a fabulous fuck, Rachel Berry'."

"You frame it, I'll sign it. But you should use all the stars. It was that good."

"Don't you feel shortchanged? After all, as soon as we were in the door, it was clothes off, hit the bed, spread your legs, wham bam, you come for a minute, thank you for the orgasm of my life, ma'am, you come for another minute. Where's the nipple sucking, where's the cunt licking?"

"When two people are on fire they can't be bothered with foreplay. That's what you get for fingering me in the taxi and elevator. But don't worry, your chance to prove yourself an all around great lover will come, and soon I hope. As to my nipples and pussy, as soon as you kissed me outside the restaurant, my nipples got hard and my pussy got wet and both stayed that way the entire time. And speaking of being shortchanged, would you please excuse me a moment while I thank my three new friends. A lady should show her gratitude."

[_One minute later_]

"Yummy. A little sauce from both of us was still on you. Eggs Benedict and sausage. I also detected a pulse that tells me I may not have to wait too long to enjoy you again."

"You're debauched and depraved. You should be illegal at any age."

"Isn't that why you love me?"

"Those are necessary but not sufficient conditions for loving you. Without your beauty, brains, spirit, and talent I wouldn't care for you at all, not the least little bit."

"You're a hard man to please, Will Schuester. But you're a hard man, that's why I'm so pleased. I'm so happy I'm here with you. No matter what happens, I'll remember this day forever."

"What could happen?"

"Everything and anything. Tell me, why do you think those Broadway people were at Nationals?"

"I suppose they always go to check out new talent."

"New Broadway talent? At high school show choir competitions? I don't think so. I've been hiding something from you, and the time has come to tell you. Those people were there because my agent sent them a video of my previous performances and asked them to check me out live."

"You have an agent(!)?"

"Of course. Ever since last year's Sectionals and _Parade_. It's what you have to do to become a professional. Shelby had made a video and she helped make the connections for me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I may be super-ambitious and manipulative, but I didn't want to manipulate or use _you_. I didn't want any decisions you made with respect to song choices or solo assignments to be affected one way or another by your possible concern for how it might affect my career. And I'm about to tell you something else that I've waited to do until we connected romantically, because I didn't want to prejudice that either. I wanted it to happen naturally. Now I want to help you to join me."

"I'm not at all sure what you have in mind."

"As soon as you get back to Lima, start rehearsing a few numbers that show off your singing and dancing. Get the band, get the A/V club, make a video. While I'm in New York, I'll line up some agents besides mine who'd be willing to take a look. Let's see if we can get you auditions just like I'm getting. I'll be talking you up to everyone I meet here. You really _are_ wonderfully talented. You're better than me. I believe in you. I love you. I want to be with you."

"I'm stunned. I don't know what to say. You're just seventeen? There's no end to you. I look at you, I think about you, I think 'she's wonderful, she's amazing.' But then there's more. There's always more. I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, for us. What about the risk? I can't just quit McKinley. I need a salary. I need a career. I need a steady job. I have alimony to pay."

"What risk? You audition during summer vacation. You're hired or you're not. You go back to McKinley or you stay in New York. If you want to go back and teach full time, do you know how many performing arts schools there are around here? You'll have performed professionally and are fluent in and certified to teach Spanish. You won't be gold to the schools, you'll be platinum, with encrusted diamonds and emeralds. I'm the one taking the risk. There will be beautiful, talented women by the thousands who will want you. I'll be some stupid, ugly little girl you once taught in Ohio."

"Please don't cry. Please sweetie. [_Kisses her several times_] You've made up an entire melodrama with a tragic ending in your head, the heroine has died, and now you're crying at your own invention. The day you're stupid and ugly is the day America elects an ignorant cunt like Sarah Palin president."

"Oh yeah? [_Sniff_] Then I just may become stupid and ugly on the first Tuesday in November 2012. Remember what Mencken said: 'Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.' Now promise me you'll at least consider my suggestion."

"I'll do better than that. After we fuck again, we'll talk about songs I could work on. But first, there's a pair of nipples and a pussy that need my attention. Here's looking at you, kid."

The End


End file.
